Latin American Chica
by 67OtakuGirl24X3
Summary: Silvia del Rosario Castro- or shall I say, Guatemala- is quite an... interesting country. She can't seem to decide on a single personality, her country tends to be in poverty, she's got just a few friends, and despite her small size she's tougher than most men in that she can hold her liquor and has lots of experience with gangs. Read about some events in her life! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

_Knock, knock. _A cry of frustration immediately pierced the sweltering air. A young woman held a paintbrush in her tan skinned hand, delicately stroking its colored bristles onto slightly yellowing parchment to create a portrait of her beloved quetzal. She had been so absorbed in the task; creating artwork was her way of briefly escaping reality to bring a little piece of beauty into the world. Now, however, her concentration shattered like a mirror at the sound of rapping on her front door and an entire pot of green paint was splashed over the picture. "Qué? I'm busy!" she shouted, hastily halting the spill.

"S-Señorita Guatemala, I have a letter for you…!" a man's voice called back feebly. Shoulders loosening, the angry flush lessened slightly from the young woman's face. She huffily swung herself upright, tucking a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. With a deep breath to gain a calm stance, she flattened the ruffles on the skirt of her multicolored dress and strode over to the door.

"Sí? May I help you?" she breathed in as upbeat of a tone as she could manage. Glimpsing outside of her house filled her with bittersweet feelings. The sight of her prized chickens, pigs, and garden filled her with pride, especially since she knew they would help serve her people if ever need be. When her cocoa-colored eyes trailed down the dirt path ahead of her, though, she was forced to acknowledge with a pang all of the simple, relatively tiny and rundown houses that made up her village. The frail build of all the houses' residents made her want to pull her hair out or something, too. Although, watching the children playing outside and the women smiling as they went about work in their eccentric jewelry and colorful handmade clothing caused a slight smile to appear on Guatemala's dainty face.

The man on the porch held out an envelope, nervously eyeing a stray cat as it slunk across the yard nearby him. "I-it comes from España, you see…" he murmured. Guatemala sucked in a light gasp, eagerly snatching up the envelope. Sure enough, the fold of the envelope was stuck by Spain's signature seal.

"Ah, gracias! Stop by one of the marketplaces, you just may find something you like…." Nodding her gratitude, Guatemala swept back inside. She plopped back down at her desk; never mind her ruined painting, this was important! Without hesitation, she slid a finger under the seal and unfolded the letter. She barely dared to breathe as she read its contents:

_Dear Guatemala,_

_Hola! I know we haven't spoken in quite a while, but I trust you're getting on well? _

"That'll be the day," Guatemala muttered before reading on.

_If this letter arrived on time, I should only be a few days late in saying feliz cumpleaños! I can't believe my niña is already 20 years old (in human years, at least)… Anyway, I think you're at about the right age to get married. So, I've gone and picked out a husband for you! I think you'll be quite pleased, he and you played so well together as kids! Well, yes, you took his tomatoes, hit him with the push broom, and fought with him on lots of things… But you did have lots of good moments and according to France, you two are a perfect match!_

_Well, that should be all I have to say… If I think of anything else, I'll tell you when I see you to plan out the wedding!_

_P.S. If you need another hint as to who you're husband is going to be… You're going to be a Vargas! Just saying._

_Sincerely,_

_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Papa Spain)_

For a few moments, Guatemala just sat there numbly staring at her papa's writing. Surely there was some other man with whom she shared a childhood with… There simply _had _to be another Vargas with a memorable part in her life…. But, no, there was no escaping it. Her quetzal- José was his name- flapped over and landed on the sill of an open window. Guatemala leisurely brought her wide-eyed gaze up to stare at her bird, the rest of her body as still as a statue. "Ay yi yi… I'm engaged to a tomato-loving _bastard_," she whispered. José simply stretched his neck down to begin preening his gorgeous, lengthy tail feathers.

Guatemala revived with a start. She jumped up so suddenly that José let out a distressed tweet and stumbled backward. Luckily, though, he caught himself just in time, and flew off with a quick glare toward his mistress. Ignoring her bird's displeasure, Guatemala bolted out of the room as fast as her thin legs could carry her short self. She skidded to a halt, nearly smashing into the wall. Nobody else in her village owned a phone, but this was no time for a guilty conscience. She ripped her old-timey phone off of its stand on a small table in the hallway, speedily dialing in a familiar number.

Someone picked up after the fourth ring. "Yo, it's the U.S. of A speaking!" a man exclaimed on the other line. Guatemala felt her heart leap.

"Alfred! Oh, mi amigo, I so need to talk to you…" Guatemala sighed.

If at all possible, America sounded even peppier as he became aware of who he was talking to. "Hey, my BFF from downstairs! What chu need, gurl?"

A smile twitched on Guatemala's mouth, though just briefly. "I've got a grande problema…" She intended to tell him her dilemma on the same breath, but found the words caught in her throat. Perhaps she was so intent on seeing to it that this wasn't really happening that she simply couldn't speak of it.

"Well then spill! Come on bra, you can talk to me about AN. Y. THING. We are homeys, and homeys gotta be there for each other!" America assured her. Now Guatemala smiled for more than a few seconds.

"Gracias…"

America blinked on the other end. "What about a grassy ass….?" This made Guatemala burst into laughter, any negative feelings from previously in the day vanishing temporarily. "Yeah, that's a turn on," America snickered under his breath. Take Italy's drunken laugh, combine it with America's signature laugh, add the intensity of France's "onhonhon," increase its pitch quite a bit, and you have Guatemala's laugh.

Containing herself to mere giggles, Guatemala allowed her motives for calling wash over her again. She cleared her throat and put on a totally serious demeanor. "So, you know how it's not exactly uncommon for marriages to be arranged in my country? Well… Papa Spain sent me a letter. He… he's picked out a husband for me…"

"Are you shittin' me? Dude, that's so boss! Who's the lucky man?" America interrupted. Guatemala stuck her finger into the ear up to which she had the phone pressed.

"I…" She inhaled deeply. "America, I'm going to marry _Romano." _

Silence as America stood with that crazy open mouthed grin of his frozen onto his face. "You… Huh?" he sputtered. Those two simple syllables somehow set Guatemala off like a match to a bomb.

"Romano! I'm engaged to ROMANO! Lovino Vargas is going to be my _husband! _I'll be the bride of that tomato-eating, Germany-hating, swear happy douche bag!" the small young woman shrieked.

"Hey, yo, calm down! You two were chill when you were young 'uns, right? So, d'you love 'im?" America questioned naively.

Panting slightly, Guatemala immediately shot back with: "Why the hell would I-" Her sentence dropped off. Running a hand over her now messy hair, she arched an eyebrow. "Oh, hold up. Maldito, I think I do!" Groaning quietly, she rubbed her temples and shut her eyes. "I think I need a Gallo…."

She could hear America snap his fingers. "Well then in that case, I'ma fly down there, pick you up, and we can go hang at a bar! Maybe even one in Vegas… TTYL!" The phone cut off.

And this is only the beginning of one of many tales in the life of Silvia del Rosario Castro, better known as: Guatemala.


	2. Chapter 2

Since he had been in Texas (for whatever reason), it took close to no time for America to fly into Guatemala's country. None of the villagers had seen a jet before, so when the sleek black plane landed in the middle of the square, it was chaos.

"Señorita! Señorita Guatemala! Aliens, aliens are attacking!" a woman called frantically, scrambling onto Guatemala's porch with a tiny child clutched to her chest. Guatemala chuckled under her breath, staring wide-eyed at her friend's contraption. She'd seen jets before, yes, but never in person.

"Oh, no, it's not _aliens… _It's mi amigo America, see," she explained distantly. The panic seeped out of the woman's face, though she raised an eyebrow and sighed silently.

"That's about the same thing," she murmured. She began rocking the child in her arms as she stomped off the steps, assuring everyone she passed that the high-tech intruder was simply an obnoxious foreigner. Some of the people returned to their everyday business, most changed their expressions of fear to that of curiosity and/or glares, while others hastily began to straighten up their shops in hopes of drawing in a customer.

Absently wrapping her heart shaped hair curl around her finger, Guatemala gingerly stepped out onto her lawn. She bent down to scratch the ears of the stray cat that was often on her property before trotting down the dirt path to the place where America's jet had caused a disturbance. The young man jumped out of his vehicle, blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Guatemala! YO!"

With a brief giggle, Guatemala grasped America's gloved hand in hers. She then stood on her toes in order to give him a light peck on the cheek. America blushed; he wasn't used to Guatemalan customs. "So, we're going?" Guatemala confirmed. America nodded so enthusiastically that he probably gave himself a mild concussion.

"Hellz yeah! C'mon!" He grabbed her by her bony wrist and dragged her onto the jet before she could even advise everyone that she'd be gone for a while. The image of fires, animals on the loose, and gang fights breaking out played through her head as she hesitantly buckled herself in.

The jet landed in the backyard of one of America's homes. The second America stood up, Guatemala squirmed free of her restraints and threw herself down the stairs. Her knuckles were so white and face was so flushed that her complexion could barely be considered Guatemalan. She got down on hands and knees and kissed the ground like a crazy person. "I've seen my country suffer through poverty. I've seen women give birth. I've seen ancient Mayan _monsters. _I've been a member of a vicious gang. I've watched animals be slaughtered and homes be burnt down. Yet I have never, _ever _been that scared in mi life," she growled. America just laughed and patted her roughly on the back.

"You just need a drink, is all!" he exclaimed. Groaning, Guatemala climbed to her feet and rubbed her temples.

"Si… Si, I suppose you're right," she sighed. "Now hurry up, I need one SOON!" she huffed, yanking America into his mansion. He laughed again and quickly increased his pace so that he was in the lead instead.

Once inside, Guatemala barely was given the chance to observe her friend's home at the speed they rushed through it. Soon enough, she found herself in a room containing only a bar, stools, a fridge, and shelves lined with countless colorful bottles. The very thought of all the alcohol made Guatemala's mind go numb.

"Well, darlin', what d'you think you want? I think a margarita would suit you well…" America suggested, placing his hands on his hips and staring at the array of liquor with utmost pride. Guatemala shrugged slightly.

"As long as it tastes good and gets me high….."

It wasn't long before America was pouring the greenish slushy-like drink into a special glass, and grabbing himself a Bud Light. He popped the cap and sat down heavily on a stool next to Guatemala. "Now, my homey, you've got to take it niiice and slow… Take it a sip at a time and savor it," he explained airily with closed eyes, gradually bringing his bottle up to his lips. Groaning with pleasure, he peeked out of one eye at his companion… and spit his drink out all over the counter. "Whoa, whoa, calm it down Silv! How the hell did you drink that whole thing already?"

Guatemala rolled her eyes, absently shaking her glass side to side. "It was a small glass. Refill, por favor?"

Opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish, America leisurely stood, took Guatemala's glass, and slid over to the blender to pour more of the beverage for her. "How about you take this one slower?"

Guatemala scoffed. "Yeah, that'll happen."

6 glasses later, Guatemala was still doing considerably fine except for the fact that she was becoming more and more irritable. When America insisted she couldn't handle another one, and reasoned that he was out of margarita mix, she smacked her glass to the ground and smirked partially as it shattered. America jabbed a finger in her face. "_You _are a little bitch."

"Lo siento, lo siento, I'm just pissed off, Al! I can't believe I can't even pick my own damn husband! Life sucks muy much sometimes…" She planted her face against the counter. "Then again…" She propped her face upright on her chin, ready for a rant that contained half cold hard truth, half drunken rambling. "I might love Romano, I don't even know! Spain made it like I know him sooo well, but I've only met the bastard like 5 times! He _is _kind of cute though… And we'd complement each other well, y'know? I bet we've got more in common than _just _our mutual relations to Spain…. He'll probably think I'm hot, I mean, check me out! I'll bet he's bien in bed, I mean, he's all feisty, not to mention dicks like him have to have grande, well, dicks!"

Draining the last few drops of his bottle, America giggled. "You're a crazy little whore, is what you are!"

Guatemala pushed herself upright, her head rolling, and glared at him through squinted eyes. "You think so? Well you know what, you think that's a turn on, don't you?" Very drunk, America gave a thumbs-up. Guatemala smirked deviously and scooted her stool dangerously close to America's. "Hey… Since I'm engaged now, I'd say I deserve a little bachelorette party."

"Well let me be the _life _of that party," America crooned. Alcohol clouding her conscience and confusing feelings for Romano, Guatemala grabbed America by the tie and amorously pressed her lips against his. The blondish country immediately wrapped his arms around Guatemala's thin waist, kissing her shamelessly.

The next half hour or so was… strange. It involved Guatemala stealing and wearing America's glasses, tossing them aside when she didn't like how distorted it made the world look; Guatemala caressing Nantucket; America yanking gently on Guatemala's hair curl, resulting in a high-pitched moan of sick pleasure from the young woman; odd snuggling, half of which was done on the floor since they'd fallen off of their stools; kisses that were aimed for each other's mouths but ended up on their cheeks, chins, and even ears.

Eventually, Guatemala awoke to blurry vision and a headache so powerful she feared her brain would shatter her skull. Groaning, she pushed herself up against the wall with much effort. The sleeve of her dress was half removed, obviously not naturally. There was a gross taste in her mouth; now she seriously regretted attempting to suck on the lime in her margarita. She glanced down to find America had his head in her lap, snoring loudly. His glasses lay on his neck.

At first, anger rapidly bubbled up inside of Guatemala. What had they done? Soon enough, though, the bitter feelings died down. She bit her lip gently, a blush sweeping across her cheeks as she ran her fingers over America's forehead. What a lie it had been when she said she might love Romano… All those things Spain discussed in his letter were true, yes, but each one of them had occurred over a course of no more than 3 days. Since those few interactions in their childhood, Guatemala and Romano had only seen each other in person a handful of times. Even then, they'd barely spoken to one another. Guatemala heard lots of things about Romano from Spain and eavesdropping on other countries, and based any feelings she had toward the Italian man mainly on those.

So when she said she might love Romano… In truth, she only _wanted _to feel fondly about him so she wouldn't be in a loveless marriage. There were other men who were candidates for her affection, and one of them was currently in the room with her.

"Hey. Wake up, estupido," she muttered, shaking America's shoulder. All the country did was halt his snoring. With a silent sigh, Guatemala forcefully brought the back of her hand against America's cheek. He sat up with a start, crying out in pain as the abrupt movement sent painful dizziness spiraling around his brain. Guatemala chuckled under her breath and placed America's glasses on his nose.

"Yo, man, what happened?" America moaned.

"We got drunk," Guatemala told him simply. She climbed to her feet and straightened out her dress. "I've got to make sure my country isn't in rubble… Could one of your servants take me home?"

America blinked, dazed. "Oh, sure, yeah…. I'll uh… How about you just walk around until you find someone, tell them I said to take you back home," he instructed. The very moment Guatemala said "Adios" and walked out the door, America was out cold again.

_Forget about it. Just forget, all that was nothing but getting high with your best friend because you're worried about your engagement, _Guatemala told herself the entire way back home, clinging to her seatbelt for dear life. She knew, however, that she'd _never _be able to forget about kissing America, even if the memory was clouded by alcohol. Guatemala closed her eyes tightly. How many problematic situations could she _possibly _get herself into?


	3. Chapter 3

Even with all of her sticky situations, Guatemala did have one place she could go to for temporary escape. If things became simply too overwhelming, she would hop on a boat waiting at the eastern shoreline and ride across the sea to the largest Caribbean island, where she knew she would be welcomed.

Guatemala's relationship with Cuba was _odd_, for lack of a better word. Just look at their meeting: Guatemala had only recently become independent, and was but a scruffy, underweight young girl. Teenage Cuba had not yet developed his large intimidating build yet, and was casually strolling along when he saw Guatemala hunched up against a wall hugging her knees against her chest. What a sight she was, with her ill-fitting raggedy clothing, unevenly cut short black hair, unwashed tan skin stretched almost unnaturally over her close-to-meatless body, and hatred bubbling in her eyes.

Their gazes had met for a moment… "You're just a kid, you shouldn't be smoking that cigar," Guatemala spat. Cuba flashed his middle finger at her before plucking the cigar out of his mouth and stamping it out on the ground.

"You're just a kid, you shouldn't be looking like a half-dead alley cat," he retorted. He pried Guatemala's bony fingers off of her knees and yanked her to her feet; he was strong for his age (even if he didn't look it), though it didn't take all that much effort to move Guatemala's small build. Their brown eyes boring into each other's, the scent of stale cigar smoke lingering in the air, Guatemala's tan hand concealed by Cuba's even tanner one, they had been close acquaintances ever since.

The nations' equally fiery personalities just _screamed _for disaster if the two of them were to be in each other's presence. Still, volcanoes don't only cause destruction, right? Their eruptions can provide natural gifts like fertile soil and new land… So all in all, Guatemala and Cuba's strong friendship just plain worked out and probably wouldn't be ruptured any time soon.

"What's wrong this time, mi amiga?" Cuba questioned as they sat dangling their bare feet off of a dock. Guatemala sighed deeply, ducking as Cuba jokingly attempted to shove her into the water below.

"Don't say it like that, it makes it sound like I've _always _got something wrong," she muttered. Cuba flicked a few of his cigar ashes into the water, grinning.

"Well something _is _always wrong!"

A smile twitched onto Guatemala's face, soon overcoming her facial features. Even her eyes lit up. "Maybe I just make excuses to come visit mi best amigo."

Cuba puffed smoke into her face. "You _could _just come over for the hell of it, you know. Why can't we ever just have _casual _visits? You could bring some of that coffee of yours that I hear is so good…" His expression darkened. "You have fun visits with _America…_"

Guilt panged in Guatemala's chest. She knew Cuba hated her newly realized love interest, and that his partially unspoken words were completely true: she came to Cuba when she needed someone to feel comfortable with, yet she came to America when she wanted to have a good time. She bit her lip slightly as she formulated a response. "Well, that's because America can't be serious for more than 5 minutes. If I went to him with a problem, he'd give me a beer and tell me to drink away my worries! _You _aren't like that. Your very presence makes me feel safer, really."

For a moment, Cuba raised an eyebrow and tossed Guatemala's defense around in his head. He shrugged his thick shoulders. "Alright, I'll take it. Now seriously, tell me what's going on."

Guatemala hoped she didn't too obviously look relieved. "It's Papa Spain… He's got the nerve to barely attempt to win me back after I ran away from him, visit like 3 times a year, and only keep in touch by sending those estupido friendly letters of his instead of contacting me with _useful _stuff, then he plays dead to me for months. Out of nowhere, he sends me this letter saying he's picked out my husband!" she explained speedily in an increasingly irritated tone.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Cuba asked after a few seconds, holding his cigar between two fingers with his eyes wide.

"Lovino Vargas. Romano. South Italy. Whatever you wanna call the bastard," Guatemala sighed.

"I bet I know what your answer will be, plus I know this doesn't really matter in these arranged marriages, but do you love the guy?" Cuba had set down his cigar; he was serious about this. Guatemala leaned her elbow on her lap and used her hand to massage her forehead.

"No…. I want to, since I'm to be his wife, but I don't know him well enough to say… I mean, we've barely met in person."

"Barely is better than never. What type of stuff have you been through with this guy?"

Guatemala shifted her position slightly. "It was a _long _time ago, but…." Besides the more recent times when they exchanged nothing but insincere greetings, there was only one brief time period which she could recall. She stared at the cloudless sky, its empty blueness serving as the perfect portal for allowing her thoughts to swim into a flashback.

Under Spain's care, Chibi Guatemala looked quite different from her older self. Her jet black hair, reaching all the way down to her bottom, was always combed and shiny. She usually wore an outfit consisting of tiny black shoes, a puffy lavender maid's dress with white frills, and a bandana to match. Much unlike now, she was a well-fed and chubby little thing. Spain would always pinch her cheeks upon his return home, and although she looked pissed off about it she would giggle afterwards.

Besides having her cook and clean (which she was rather good and thorough at), Spain relatively spoiled Guatemala. He painted with her, told her bedtime stories (he himself usually fell asleep halfway through them), let her help out in his garden, snuggled her for ridiculous lengths of time, and fed her limitless churros and tomatoes. Whenever Spain came home from war, covered in poorly hidden battle scars with a warm smile on his face, Guatemala never hesitated to throw herself into his arms and stay there for so long that sometimes they fell asleep like that. Even when she acted like a brat, Guatemala always unconditionally loved her Papa Spain and he always loved his little Guatemala.

But something was just… wrong. The older she got, the more Guatemala realized that deep down she loathed being in Spain's care. If she dug deep enough into the word _care _in that context, she acknowledged that it meant the same as _control. _She wasn't asking for no more work; she didn't mind her chores. What she desired was freedom. You may ask, Why would anyone want to give up the calm life Guatemala had as a young child? One word: pride.

She eventually took to cooking, sweeping, dusting, and washing dishes while also thinking/plotting. She knew that countries such as herself didn't gradually age like normal children: they'd wake up one day looking notably older. After many calculations, she determined that she wouldn't appear 5 years old for much longer. Come about 2 months' time, she would look to be around 9 to 11. She decided to base her independence off of aging up. So, after she possibly allowed Spain to see her as an older girl, she would make her escape. To a young country such as herself, the plan was foolproof.

How could she have foreseen the detour in her scheme?

One day, she came home from the store, stumbling with the weight of the paper bag she balanced in her short arms. She set the load down in the kitchen and slid against the wall, exhausted. When she sluggishly opened her eyes, they bulged out of her head. The room was absolutely _trashed. _Sauce splattered the walls. The refrigerator door hung slightly agape (she immediately shut it with a shiver). Both dirty and clean pans took up the sink and countertop. A pizza box with half a pie remaining stuck out of the garbage can, which had most of its former contents sprawled out on the semi grimy tile floor. And that was just the kitchen…

Feverishly, Guatemala dug through the mess for her push broom. She started shoveling the discarded garbage into one pile, until she decided she too badly wanted to know how everything came to be in this state. Still clasping her broom tightly, she trudged into the living room. "PAPA! What happ-" She halted midsentence when she saw that it was not Spain sitting on the sofa, but someone she had never seen before.

He was about her age, wearing a very similar maid's dress except it had pink instead of lavender (this feminine ensemble made her giggle internally). A reddish-brown hair curl, the same color as the rest of his hair, poked out from under his hat. He held a slice of pizza in one chubby fist and had a combination of sauce, cheese, and bits of toppings dripping down his front and face. Behind the mess and scowling expression, though… he was quite cute. Guatemala couldn't help but blush.

The young girl was barely even aware of hearing the kitchen door close, following Spain starting to call her name but then shrieking and rambling on in Spanish. He stumbled into the room, looking paler than a Spaniard should. Horrified realization washed over his face, and he sighed silently. "Y…you must be Romano!" he squeaked.

Gulping down another bite of pizza, the minuscule stranger looked up at him with a bored face. "I guess you're Spain?" He huffed and turned away, continuing to stare at a television screen. "Go get me a drink." Guatemala clenched her teeth, stomped over, and smacked her broom right on Romano's head 3 times.

"DON'T TALK TO PAPA SPAIN LIKE THAT!" she yelled. Yes, she planned to run away from Spain, but that didn't mean some adorable little slob could mouth off to him.

"OW! WHY WOULD YOU-" Holding his hat to his head, Romano stopped mid shout and stared at the angry girl before him. His expression was frozen with widened eyes and an agape mouth. Suddenly, his face turned so red that you couldn't even notice the tomato sauce there. "H-hola, hola! I, mi name, I am Romano! Who are-"

"I'm Guatemala," she interrupted. Dropping her broom, she turned away haughtily and marched up to her room. Still, a light pink swept across her cheeks as she felt the boy's stare linger on her back.

Guatemala was absolutely devastated with the news of Spain's new territory. She came down the next morning, praying it had been a dream and South Italy was just a temporary guest, to see the nation seated on the kitchen table munching on a tomato. Her heart shattered inside of her chest: that was the tomato Spain left out for _her_, and she knew it. "Where did you get that?" she demanded. Romano swallowed, squinting as he glared away from her with a blush evident on his face.

"Spain gave it to me," he muttered.

"Don't lie!" Clambering onto a chair, Guatemala placed her hands on her hips and got as close to him as she dared. "You found that tomato on the table, didn't you?"

"No," Romano insisted simply.

"_Si_," Guatemala countered. At that, she snatched the red fruit out of Romano's dirty hands and ate the remainder of it whole.

"HEY! That was mine! That Spanish bastard gave it to me!" Romano screamed, pouncing at her but succeeding in landing face-first on the floor. "Speak of the devil," he murmured as he rubbed his nose and the kitchen door opened.

"Guatemala, mi niña, I brought you your fresh tomato!" Spain sang cheerily, holding out a deliciously ripe tomato. Feeling no more than a couple seconds of regret, Guatemala plucked it out of his tan hands and ate it joyously.

The two young countries in Spain's care had no more sweet moments like they had at first. Guatemala called Romano lazy slob while he called her a series of cuss words; they argued about who would end up growing to be stronger; they constantly complained to Spain about one another; when they had to share a bed because Romano's room was being fixed, they both ended up on the floor with a black eye and some strands of hair ripped out.

And so, on the third afternoon since she'd met Romano, Guatemala decided on a change of plans and set out for independence much earlier than intended. She threw her most important possessions in a bag and snuck out while Spain scolded Romano for leaving his laundry lying around the house. Guatemala made it through the garden she'd loved so much, down the driveway where she'd eagerly watched for Spain's return, and across the street she'd buy groceries on. Tears dwelled up in her eyes as she distantly heard Spain calling her in for lunch.

"I saw him in person a few more times, and we didn't try to kill each other or anything… I thought he grew to be really handsome and I saw him blush at the sight of me. Otherwise, well… I've got nothing," Guatemala concluded.

Cuba took a long drag on his cigar before replying with: "In that case, good luck."


	4. Chapter 4

She knew she couldn't hide from her papa's decision. She knew that even if she stayed in her own country, Spain would simply come retrieve her. She knew that there was no avoiding marrying Romano. She knew there was a slight chance that they could actually have a decent marriage together…

What Guatemala didn't know was Romano's view on the whole situation.

About a week after her visit with Cuba, Guatemala received a phone call from Spain inviting her to come visit him at home. His usual cheery tone sounded quite forced and a bit shaky, but Guatemala didn't notice: she was distracted by slight anxiety the moment Spain said he wanted to discuss her engagement in person, with Romano. After informing her boss that she'd be gone for a bit, she boarded an airplane (not a high tech one, but an airplane nonetheless) and flew over to Spain's country.

The closer she got to Spain's home, the more uncomfortable she felt. Every step she took and sight she noted caused memories to surface. A familiar face made her wonder how that person was doing, and who else was still around; a rundown store she had shopped at in the past brought up the question of when its business decreased; a neighbor's garden reminded her of the one she'd worked on with Spain; a stray animal had her recall old pets she had cared for; mostly, walking up Spain's unchanged dirt driveway made her remember when she'd seen him return home from war for the first time. She smiled very slightly at the memory: the moment he walked in the door, she bombarded him with punches and screamed at him for letting her be afraid he died, yet the second he picked her up she covered his cheek with kisses and hugged him tightly.

Biting her lip gently, Guatemala grasped the brass knocker on Spain's front door. Before she banged it against the wooden door, her peripheral vision caught sight of a bull grazing in a distant pasture. Was that the same one Spain'd had all those years ago? Her heart began to race inside her chest. Oh, Lord, she hadn't been there in so long…. She had run away when her physical age was around 5; now that age was about 20.

Eagerness overcame her conscience and Guatemala swung the door open without knocking. "Papa Spain? I'm here," she called feebly. She flinched, since she intended there to be confidence in her tone. No response came; however, she heard male voices coming from the living room. Guatemala stepped across the kitchen (_This place hasn't changed at all… Spain is so old fashioned, _she had thought), inhaled a deep breath, held it, and opened the door to the living room.

"No means no, stupid bastard!" Romano was shouting. Spain looked close to tears.

"But Roma, I can just see you two being so compatible-"

"Well that's YOUR opinion, idiot! The whore might be going along with it, but I don't want no damn wife!" Guatemala cleared her throat loudly, the accusation of being a whore making her blood gradually begin to boil. Romano turned his furious gaze to her, and his demeanor seemed to deflate like a balloon. "Oh, c-ciao, Guatemala…!"

"Look, I don't know what Spain told you, but I'm not exactly thrilled with this little surprise either," she spat, crossing her arms and striding over to the two men. A very slight blush tainted her cheeks. It had been about 2 years (according to their physical age, at least) since she'd last seen Romano, and time had been good on his looks. What a handsome young man he had turned into… Especially with his caught-off-guard expression and lack of a grimace.

Guatemala's words seemed to perk him up just a bit. "So you won't let this wedding happen either? Buono! Now I-"

"I never said that," Guatemala interrupted. She raised a finger at the Italian as he gaped at her. "I know you come off as a dick, but I'm sure you've got a reason for acting like that… Some, I dunno, inner insecurity or something." Romano glared at the ground uncomfortably as she said this. "Maybe we _would _suck as a married couple. Then again, maybe we _wouldn't. _How can we be sure?"

"Because you're such a babe!" Romano spluttered.

"Ex_cuse _me?" Guatemala drawled. Romano started shaking slightly. From anger, embarrassment, or fear, nobody could tell.

"You want honesty, right? Women are all over honesty… Well, I'd sit on my ass all day and have youdo all the housework, _sweetheart. _I wouldn't smile for you, I'd give you as much shit as I give everyone else, and the most husband-ish things I'm willing to do for you are eating all the food you make and exploring the bedroom department, if you know what I mean." Despite the brutally honest things he was saying, Romano's face was burning red. There was something about this forced fiancée of his that made him spill everything he was thinking… Nothing he knew about her, though, made him want to be her husband.

For a few moments, Guatemala just stared at him in shock. "I appreciate that you're telling the truth, but… I can assure you, Lovino, that you'd be straightened out after a month with me," she finally hissed.

"Well you're not going to _get _that month, Silvia I think it is? It's nothing personal really, I just refuse to be tied down. Especially not if this dumbass," he nodded sharply at Spain, "arranged it! I'm not marrying _you, _and I'm not marrying _anyone. _Find some other bastard to stick your precious little daughter with, Spain!" He glanced at Guatemala, something like sympathy flashing across his amber eyes for just a second, before he stormed out of the house.

It was silent between Spain and Guatemala for a good 30 seconds. "I… I'll take it you don't want me to find anyone else for you?" Spain murmured. Guatemala shook her head slowly, irritably running her fingers through her curtains of black hair.

"No, gracias… I think I'd like to pick out my own husband." She offered a meek smile. "Arranged marriages are decreasing more and more in my country, people are starting to choose their lovers now…"

"Si, I understand," Spain whispered. He kissed Guatemala atop the head and offered that she stay for lunch; she declined as politely as possible, hugged her papa gently, and swept back off to her own home. There weren't tears in her eyes, but for God-only-knows-why, Guatemala's heart was crying.

"He said _what_?" Cuba boomed after listening to Guatemala recite what happened with Romano over the phone.

"Come on, you heard me… Don't make me repeat it," Guatemala muttered. She had already told the story to America a few minutes prior, but figured it'd be best not to inform Cuba of this.

"No, no, I won't… I feel crappy enough that you had to experience it once. Look, Sil, I'll take care of this," Cuba told her in a low voice. Using Guatemala's human name showed one level of sincerity, but using her _nickname _showed an even higher one.

"Huh? Carlos, what are you gonna do?" she questioned, blinking repeatedly. Cuba waved his hand dismissively on the other end of the line.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll just take care of this, alright?"

Guatemala furrowed her eyebrows suspiciously. "Alright…" she sighed.

"Bueno. Adios."

Guatemala nodded. "Adios…" She hung up the phone, feeling a combination of curious, concerned, and eager.

Across the Caribbean Sea, Cuba was also hanging up his phone. "What type of lowlife says that type of shit to a girl like Guatemala?" he growled, storming outside. Crowds parted as he made his way down to the boating docks- everyone knew to stay out of Cuba's way when he was angry. "Take me to southern Italy," he shouted to a boat's captain.

"America! What the hell are YOU doing here, you dumbass!" Cuba shrieked after banging on Romano's front door for about a minute. The spectacled country had pounced up the steps of the porch, determination blazing in his blue eyes.

"My total BFFL Guatemala has been having some probs with this square, so since I'm the hero, it's only natural that I come to, heh, solve the problem!" he exclaimed, letting out his signature laugh afterwards with his hands on his hips.

"How did you know about-? Oh forget it!" Clenching his teeth, Cuba brought his flip-flopped foot against the wooden door and kicked it out of its hinges, America's obnoxious mirth only fueling his anger. "South Italy, Romano, whatever the HELL your name is, get your pathetic ass OUT HERE!" Cuba demanded.

"What, what! Why are you he-" A devastated shriek escaped Romano's mouth, the vein in his temple pulsing even harder. "YOU BROKE MY DOOR!"

"Well YOU broke a fine maiden's heart!" America countered, obviously trying to pull off a heroic voice. Cuba rolled his eyes.

"What're you bastards going on about?" Romano hissed.

"You hurt Guatemala, so now we've got to hurt you. And just so you know, YOU'RE the bastard," Cuba barked. The two countries backed Romano against a wall, blocking out his rapid protests. By the time they were done with him (well, Cuba did most of the punching, America just laughed "encouragingly" for a majority of the time), Romano would probably be sore for half a year.


	5. Chapter 5

As troublesome as Guatemala's life currently was, it was heavenly compared to negative highlights of her past. Poverty had been a big part of her life for as long as she could remember. Just thinking back about a regular stroll through town made her heart ache…

Every day brought basically the same sights. Family members of all ages- from toddlers to elders- worked away at their gardens. They needed to pray that enough would grow just to feed themselves, let alone be able to make money off of a surplus... For some people, it was easy to see that subsistence farming simply wasn't enough. Guatemala was skinny and underweight, she knew that, but couldn't help but feel guilty as she caught sight of her people. While her ribs were just barely notable, most of the Guatemalans she laid eyes on looked quite like skeletons with tan skin stretched over them.

"Mama, NO! You CAN'T, Mama!" a little boy was screaming as Guatemala made her way to the market, where she would deliver an extra harvest of potatoes she'd miraculously managed to grow. She couldn't help but glance over at the child; his sobs were just so unbearable, she had to see what was up…

"It's just a pig, estúpido child! Why do you think we have it in the first place?" the woman snapped, trying to make it to her backyard as her young son clung desperately to her leg.

"B-but he's my FRIEND!" he pleaded, tears streaming down his bony face. A sharp gasp exited his lips as his mother leaned over slightly and smacked him upside the head, hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground. By the time he recovered a few seconds later, it was too late. He scrambled to his feet just to hear the final squeal of the animal in question. "I won't eat any of him! I won't!" he yelled to his mother.

"Then starve!" she shouted back. Guatemala gulped and kept on walking.

"Ah, your dress is tan bella, niña," the frail woman at the market commented as she precariously set the delivery of potatoes on the nearly bare shelves.

"Gracias." Guatemala smiled, absently fingering the colorful fabric of her sleeve. The market owner's gentle grin darkened sadly.

"You're so fortunate, to have so many outfits at your disposal…" she murmured.

"I-I only own 15, ma'am," Guatemala, currently about 15 years in physical age, retorted hesitantly. The woman wasn't smiling at all anymore.

"Only? My dear, most people have less than 10." Her tired eyes trailed over to a family across the street, all of them clothed in obviously unwashed ensembles. Come to think of it, Guatemala had never seen any of them change clothes… She quickly headed back home.

That night, she curled up in bed with her spirits as lowly as they always were. Another day of agonizing hopelessness and constant reminders of what a failing country she was… On the bright side, another day had gone by and her country hadn't fallen apart completely... Sighing, she gently stroked the beak of the quetzal perched on her windowsill before reaching for her bedside table. A series of tiny yarn dolls, each one about the size of her thumb, was waiting there. She selected one and clasped it in between her palms, closing her eyes tightly. "Ay yi yi, things are getting out of hand… If this keeps up, my entire population will have dropped off of starvation or disease! I just don't know what to do… I know it'll only get worse before it gets better, but when _will_ things get better?" she whispered frantically. Opening her eyes sluggishly, she slid the Worry Doll under her pillow. As she nodded off into a restless sleep, she wondered how many of those dolls she'd have to share with before her worries stayed out of mind.

Crushing poverty wasn't the only thing making Guatemala's life a living hell. Never in her life would she forget the day she'd woken up with the appearance of a 9 year old girl. It wasn't because it was a significant birthday, though: it was because of what life changing offer she was handed that day.

"Hey, you! Yeah, the one that looks half dead!" Guatemala shot her head upright, immediately gripping her temples for the abrupt movement sent her into a temporary dizzy spell. _That's what you get for sitting here like you're waiting for the vultures to get you, _she scolded herself mentally.

"What do you want?" she croaked. The boy who had spoken laughed, motioning for the group of people behind him to do the same. They joined in without hesitation.

"You really are pathetic looking… What's your name, niña?" the leader asked, taking a swig out of a brownish glass bottle. Guatemala narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"I'm Silvia, but technically I'm Guatemala… Where'd you get that beer? How'd you afford it?" she demanded meekly. The boy glanced down at the bottle in his hand as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"Oh, this? I sold our sheep… Mama wasn't too happy about it." He absently brought his fingertips to a bloody bruise on his cheek; Guatemala almost felt sympathy for him. Almost. "So, anyway, you got a family?" he continued, bringing his hand down to hang at his side. Guatemala shook her head and stood up slowly.

"It's just me." She never thought it would've hurt so much to act as if she had no relation at all to Spain. No relation at all to _anybody. _

The gang's leader pursed his lips. "Aw, poor chica… Look, why don't you come along with us?" Guatemala looked the boy up and down. He wasn't really much to look at: about 13 years of age, usual tan skin and brown eyes, short-shaved black hair, and an incredibly raggedy outfit. Still, Guatemala knew she was in no place to criticize, with her lanky build, hair cut unevenly below her ears, eyes almost too big for her face, and clothes made out of mismatched fabrics she'd managed to get her hands on.

"I… I don't even know you people," Guatemala muttered, doing her best not to make eye contact. She felt her heart pause momentarily when one of the girls in the back of the group, looking to be about 15 years old, slid something out of her pocket that Guatemala had seen very rarely: a gun.

"Look, querido, we've gotta keep taking in kids like you. It's our job. And if you refuse, well… The world won't miss an unfortunate soul like you," the leader crooned, roughly cupping her chin in his hand and tapping his beer bottle against his leg. Guatemala gulped quietly. Obviously, these people had discarded the fact that she was the representative of their country… Or they just didn't care.

"I guess… I guess I can't exactly refuse, then," she whispered. And so from that day on, she was part of that gang.

Even though she regrets it now, gang life helped make Guatemala who she was today. The fist fights she got in daily (she had simply watched the others do this for about a year until she was allowed to join in) and access to guns came in handy for future combat. When the leader, named Jaime, ended up dying when his father went too far in beating him, Guatemala took over their relatively small gang. This, of course, taught her necessary leadership skills. Being with these people gave Guatemala a sense of family, friendship, and belonging. The money made by selling things her gang had stolen served as a kick start for gaining the wealth a country required. Plus, she was better at handling inevitable wars with her ability to take lives.

This capability, however, was not something Guatemala was ever proud of, specifically because of how it started. Her gang, currently 8 members strong, was trying to recruit a ninth. "I-if mi mama knew I was joining such a thing, she'd skin me alive…! I have work to do at home, anyway," the frantic girl was insisting, backed against a wall in an alley.

"That's your final answer, then?" the young boy that was like Guatemala's right hand man- his name was Huascar- confirmed in a dangerous tone. The girl nodded, tears streaming down her tan cheeks. Huascar sighed, but a cruel smirk curled on the corner of his mouth. "Silvia… I think you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Guatemala questioned casually. Her eyes widened slightly when Huascar tossed a stolen gun into her hands. "No…" she gasped under her breath. No way would she become a murderer at the physical age of 14!

"Si. Come on, you won't get caught… You know I'm willing to take the full blame if anyone asks," Huascar assured her, gripping her shoulder. Guatemala's conscience was screaming at her to drop the rare weapon; nevertheless, a controlling feeling of bloodlust overcame her… Her fingers caressed the trigger, her soon-to-be-victim's cries for help merely buzzing in her ears. All the other gang members had done it, and she was their leader, so…..

_Bang. _With a slip of Guatemala's finger, an innocent girl was dead.

It was after that that Guatemala decided she needed to do something more with her life. She couldn't live as a criminal forever… She had already stopped stealing, since she now owned property that provided her with proper land to farm. But she was still a murderer, if not an accomplice, and unnecessarily taking lives was absolutely unforgivable. If she was to be a suitable role model for her people, she had to be successful…

"You're _what_?" her entire gang hissed in unison.

"You heard me. I'm going to enroll in a school." This declaration was met with groans and other verbal protests from her gang members.

"Guys, guys, shut up… She… She's more important than any of us. You know that," Huascar interrupted, silencing them all. He reassuringly gripped Guatemala's arm. "She probably _should _get some form of education… She's a country, _our _country… She's gotta be as high and mighty as she can." Guatemala smiled at him appreciatively, glad she wasn't alone in the decision.

"Oh, fine… But if we call on you, you _will _be there, got it?" one of the older female members sighed.

"Si. Got it," Guatemala nodded.

By the time her physical age was 19, Guatemala disbanded her gang and decided she'd never go back to the illegal actions she'd taken during those 10 years. Her leave, however, didn't have an impact on the overall violence of her country. No amount of Worry Dolls would make her dismiss that nothing probably would.


	6. Chapter 6

Back when their friendship had just recently blossomed to almost its full potential, Guatemala decided to introduce America to some of her country's ancient history. She knew that reciting tales and facts about the Mayans' civilization and stellar achievements would only result in America falling asleep, getting distracted, walking out on her, or not paying attention; so, she thought it'd be a better idea to give him some upfront, possibly hands-on experience.

The consideration of enlightening America in Guatemala's past came to her when the two companions were strolling around some shops in a village. In one, a man sold his own takes on certain Mayan artifacts, such as wall paintings put onto canvases and pottery redesigned into something slightly more modern. Guatemala lingered a little longer in that store, leisurely admiring every piece of art. America, on the other hand, was jittery to leave. It was nothing personal against the shop: his attention span was just failing him.

"Hey bra, does that dude have some fetish for dogs or something?" he questioned in a shout-whisper as he dragged Guatemala toward the doorway, finally unable to stay in one place for any longer. "I mean, there were pics of them on like, EVERYTHING!" he added in a louder tone as they made it out onto the street. Guatemala arched an eyebrow at him, grinning in spite of herself. From most people, she'd find this naïve take on her culture offensive, but from America, she knew he was just being his clueless self.

"It's not just him, it's a lot of my people. Dogs are seen quite fondly; it started way back in the Classic Period... We believe that dogs help carry dead bodies on to the afterlife. In fact, there are lots of ruins where the skeletons of dogs and people have been buried together," Guatemala explained. She felt her smile deepen with her enthusiasm about discussing the culture which she was so passionate about. There was so much more she could discuss on this single topic…

"Cool story bro," was simply America's response. Guatemala ignored him and turned to face the blue-eyed country. Since she was in front of him, America ended up stumbling into her when she abruptly stopped walking. She didn't seem fazed by it.

"You don't really know anything about these types of things, do you? I haven't introduced you to any of it," she said thoughtfully. "Do you have time to go on a 'little' adventure?"

America's face lit up notably. "You betcha!"

A smirk played on Guatemala's lips as she grabbed America's gloved hands (she insisted he take them and his jacket off because of her country's heat, but America argued that "a little temperature difference is nothing for a hero!") and started to pull him down the road.

"How… long… have… we… been… walking?" America huffed, meekly climbing through about the millionth set of vines, branches, and some green plant life he didn't even recognize. He had finally caved after about 30 minutes of trudging through a dense jungle and tied his bomber jacket around his neck. Even without its full warmth engulfing him, he was sweating buckets.

Guatemala, wearing a plain tank top she'd borrowed from America and a pair of men's pants (she knew this was a completely unacceptable attire, but it wasn't like she could maneuver her way through the jungle in a traditional skirt!), was faring much better. That, however, was mostly due to her being better adjusted to the heat. "A few, hours… What do you, expect? It took 13 years for the structures I'm going to, show you to be, uncovered," she retorted. She wiped beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, panting briefly but then standing up straight as they stepped out onto a trail. "Phew! Just 12 more miles to the gate!" she breathed.

It's not an exaggeration that America's eyes bugged nearly out of his head, he drew in a gasp as if someone had punched him in the gut, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. "12 miles… until the _gate? _Guatemala, dude, we've been walking for like, _100 _miles already… And we still gotta go _back… _I can't, bra! The hero… has found his kryptonite," he persisted. Guatemala sighed and kneeled down next to him.

"Cry me a río, you empollón…" Still, she patted his back soothingly.

"Those stone head thingers you showed me earlier in the sugarcane fields were pretty badass… C-can't we just, leave it, at that? Tell me the rest of, the stuff, and I'll, Google it…"

"Oh, fine," Guatemala sighed again. She smiled partially. "I wouldn't let you in one of the temples anyway. I have a feeling that everything you so much as look at would crumble to dust…"

Grinning feebly, America pushed himself upright. "We could always come back some other time, take one of those tourist shuttle buses instead… And if not, well, maybe I'll actually go to the library and pick up a book about this crap!"

Guatemala flinched at having her history be called "crap," but only briefly: she knew America simply meant it as a synonym for "stuff." She laughed under her breath. "Wow, you'd read a book for me? That is so sweet. But, you've got potential to do it for more legitimate reasons." She waggled her finger at him in a scolding matter. America stuck out his tongue childishly in response.

"You know… You're so absorbed in all the stuff about the Mayans and shiz- stuff that happened like, a bajillion years ago. There's not anything wrong with that I guess, but you really should swing by _my _country sometime. Get wrapped up in its _current _culture." Guatemala just sat there blinking at him for a moment. Get wrapped up in his current culture…?

"I'm back, señor!" Guatemala called to her boss.

"Ah, Silvia, I'm glad you've returned. Did you enjoy your trip to Ameri-" Guatemala's boss stopped dead when he turned around to face the young woman he was talking to. Maybe she looked similar to who he thought she was, but… "Lo siento, I thought you were the woman that represents this country…"

Guatemala giggled, tossing her one-sided ponytail over her shoulder. "It _is _me!"

These simple 3 words were enough to knock the air out of her boss. There was no way… But there was no escaping the truth. She was wearing a skirt, that was usual… Except for the fact that this skirt was made of denim, was only about 5 inches long, and was worn over a pair of black fishnet stockings. Her boss found himself staring at the strange accessory, gulping slightly as he saw that they were mostly covered by a pair of knee-high black and white Converse shoes. She wore a pale yellow, translucent t-shirt with the word "HOLLISTER" printed in bold white letters across her chest. Atop her head was a white baseball cap with a red Philly's _P _on it. Her face was barely recognizable, with the lip gloss, mascara, blush, and eye shadow she'd dabbed on.

"So, boss man, want a burger? They're the BOMB," she exclaimed, extending a red white and yellow paper bag toward him. There wasn't a trace of Spanish accent in her voice. In her other freshly manicured hand was a Styrofoam cup nearly the size of her head, displaying the McDonald's logo on it; she brought the straw to her lips and took a long slurp.

Guatemala's boss crinkled up his nose as he peered cautiously into the outstretched bag. "I'd say that looks like what we feed our pigs… except that's almost enough to feed an entire family," he muttered. Guatemala gulped down her soda.

"Oh, yeah, this baby alone is 600 calories! I won't even get you _started _on the fries. The burgers taste like god food, as long as you don't know the hormones and chemicals they put into the meat and the preservatives they use for everything," she reasoned.

"It doesn't seem like a very… healthy choice…" Her boss's voice was almost completely gone. Guatemala tilted her head, pursing her lips slightly like a little kid.

"There are apple dippers in here…" She suddenly perked up. "You know what we should do? Use all that money we were gonna put toward health care and build a big ass shopping mall! With a roller rink and big fountain and-"

"Silvia del Rosario Castro, what _happened _to you?" her boss interrupted. She stared at him pleasantly with an expression like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I visited America!"

Guatemala blinked herself rapidly into reality. She wasn't actually standing in her boss's office; she was still kneeling next to America on the outskirts of a Guatemalan jungle. Shuddering internally at her little daydream, she cleared her throat. "I think I'll have to take a rain check on that one," she murmured.


	7. Chapter 7

December 8th, 1941 was the date. Guatemala had received a phone call from America, requesting that she come visit him ASAP. His tone had lacked its usual upbeat, carefree excitement; in fact, he sounded quite downhearted. So naturally, Guatemala made her way over to her friend's mansion no more than an hour after he called her.

Once she reached his place, she rung the doorbell (which sent a chorus of the first few notes of The Star Spangled Banner throughout the home) and waited patiently on the porch, although she was biting her lip nervously. What could possibly have America upset? She snapped out of brainstorming when one of the ornate double doors swung open. A man she'd never seen before faced her on the cement porch. He was dressed in casual business wear, so she knew he wasn't a servant… He must simply be an American citizen.

The man arched an eyebrow at the sight of Guatemala, an incredulous grin threatening on his features. "Yo, America! There's a little Mexican on your porch." Guatemala froze on the spot, her expression going blank and body going stiff.

"What did you call me?" she whispered. The man tilted his head at her.

"A little Mexican…?" He said it like anyone with an IQ above 5 should know. Guatemala flinched visibly, though not very noticeably. Color began to rise in her cheeks, she clenched her fists, and she started shaking a bit.

"Do _not. _Call me. A Mexican," she growled. The man put up his hands in mock surrender.

"Well _sorrrr_y! What am I supposed to call you? Mexicano?"

"I'm not Mexican!" Guatemala snapped. You could almost actually see the fire in her eyes. "I'm a Guatemalan! Hell, I _am _Guatemala! So don't you _dare,_" she jabbed a finger in his face, "call me a fu-"

"Jeez, Guatemala, cool your jets!" injected the voice of America. His "heroic" vibe had dimmed to almost nothing, and he looked as if he hadn't slept. He nodded his head to dismiss the man that had opened the door and ushered Guatemala inside.

"I've never seen you so worked up. Why's it bother you so much that he called you that?" he inquired as they made their way through the mansion. Guatemala shrugged half-heartedly, now a deal embarrassed about her outburst.

"It's a… pride thing. There aren't many stereotypes about my country- not nearly as many as there are for larger countries, at least- but outsiders always seem to compare my people to Mexicans. Maybe we look similar, and I know most people mean no harm by saying it, but…" She fiddled with the collar of her blouse. "I don't want people to think I'm anything or anyone that I'm not, you know?"

America nodded slowly, opening the door to a cluttered office and stepping inside. "Yeah, I get cha…"

Guatemala chuckled humorlessly. "I actually handled that quite well. You should have seen me this one time… Well, more like, you shouldn't have." When a Cuban woman had called her the Mexican girlfriend of Cuba, the latter actually had to grab hold of her by the waist and hoist her over his shoulder to avoid having Guatemala scratch the woman's eyes out. "But anyway," Guatemala shook her head before looking up at America, "why did you need me?"

If America looked depressed before, it was nothing compared to now. It was almost heartbreaking, with his normal personality in mind. "I need someone to vent to… See, Pearl Harbor- you know, in my state Hawaii- was bombed yesterday," he murmured. Guatemala's eyes widened and she clasped a hand over her mouth.

"_What?! _Oh, amigo… Who did it?! I bet it was England again, wasn't it? Oh, he just doesn't know when to stop, that son of a-"

"It was Japan." Guatemala shut right up. Japan? That calm, seemingly sweet nation who was attractively adorable in a mysterious way? _It's always the quiet ones, _Guatemala thought. To her surprise, she glanced up to see America sniffling. "I don't get it, man! I thought Japan and I were homeys! We were _tight! _He doesn't seem like the violent type, either…"

Guatemala rubbed America's arm soothingly, biting her lip. "Shh, Al… Shh…"

The two companions talked over the tragic situation for about 15 minutes until America said he needed to meet with his president. He offered for Guatemala to stay a while, but she told him that she had sudden business to tend to in her own country. She permitted America to hug her, gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek, and headed back home.

"Señor, I have a request," Guatemala announced as she entered her boss's office. He said nothing, though he glanced up at her to show he was listening. Guatemala inhaled a silent deep breath before declaring: "I would like for us to wage war against Japan."

That got her boss's attention. He froze on the spot, allowed his pen to clamber to his desk, and stared at Guatemala with wide eyes. "W…why would you want to do that?"

"He attacked America! I can't just let him get away with it! It seems rash, sí, but… I know what I'm doing," she assured him in an even tone. A ghost of a smile appeared on her boss's tanned, aged face.

"You certainly have a strong bond with Señor America… I will see what we can do."

"Cuba, hola!" Guatemala called two days later. The mood she was in was hard to describe. She wasn't happy; how could she be with a war in the making? She wasn't upset, though; she was quite eager to get revenge on Japan for harming her best friend. So, in a couple words, she was bitterly pleased.

For once, Cuba didn't look delighted to see his friend from across the Caribbean. In fact, he put on a deer-caught-in-headlights expression at the sight of her and appeared as if he wanted to escape her presence, yet was unable to move. As a result, he simply stood there staring awkwardly at the ground as Guatemala made her way over to him. The female country held up a very official-looking paper in her hand. She shook it slightly once she reached him, and cleared her throat before speaking.

"Can you believe how many people suddenly declared war against dear Japan? Australia… Netherlands… Britain… America, of course… China- I never would've thought that greñudo* would go to war against his own little brother… Someone called Canada… Ooh, there's my name… Haiti… Hm? Who is this _Cuba _person?" She placed her hands on her hips and stared at Cuba skeptically. "I've never heard of _him _before," she mused.

Blushing slightly, Cuba scratched the back of his head, still not making eye contact with Guatemala. "I, er… I wasn't getting along with that Japan guy…"

"Really?" Guatemala breathed. "Well, I think it's quite a funny coincidence that you'd wage war against him shortly after he made an attack on a country that you absolutely _hate_!"

Cuba finally turned toward Guatemala with a sigh. "Look… The reason we _have _all these wars and violence and crap is because not everyone is united. I know that's totally unrealistic, but… I'm willing to take an attack like that on another country personally, as if _I _was the victim," he muttered. Guatemala snickered, stepping so close to him that their bodies were almost touching.

"You're such a softie!" she teased.

"I am not!" Cuba snapped. He raised a fist threateningly, even though he'd never actually hit her. Guatemala winked and twirled away from him overdramatically.

"Well I find it muy sweet that you'd do something like that for your enemy," she insisted. Cuba sighed inwardly, whipping a cigar out of his back pocket. He lit it up and brought it gradually to his lips.

"…Whatever…"

* * *

* _greñudo_: a term Guatemalans use for people with long hair


	8. Chapter 8

"Señorita!" Guatemala stood up straight at the exclamation. Her eyes drifted away from the cornstalk she was harvesting and scanned over the field of maize. It was just as she thought: nobody accompanied her besides a stray cat snoozing on the edge of the turf. Perhaps the hours of working under the blazing sun were getting to her, and she just imagined it… She leisurely returned to her harvest when she heard it again: "Señorita!"

"Hola?" she called hesitantly. The sound of her hoarse voice made her flinch just a bit. "Who is addressing me?" she demanded in a louder, slightly clearer tone. Nearby rustling was evidence that whoever was talking to her was preparing to show himself. Stalks to Guatemala's left parted, and out stepped quite an interesting man. Well, more so a _creature _than a man. He was short- about up to Guatemala's knee- and had grayish, loose skin despite his very lanky build. On his balding head was a simple yet at the same time intricate headdress, and he wore just a loincloth.

Most people would have screamed, froze in shock, and/or run off at the sight of him. Guatemala, however, only stumbled one step back and immediately recovered afterwards. The man pointed a bony finger at the hand-woven basket filled with picked corn at Guatemala's feet. "Would you… like some?" Guatemala murmured. The tiny man nodded; Guatemala smiled slightly at him and kneeled down. "How many would you like?" 3 fingers were held up on the man's thin hand. So, Guatemala selected the three best husks and gingerly pressed them into the man's frail arms. He nodded at her, and vanished.

Guatemala returned to her harvest without a second of faltering. The brief visit from the man barely lingered in her mind, and left no feelings of fear or concern. In fact, it left her with a feeling of positivity and promising things to come… The comfort was only redeemed every night when she glanced out her window to see the man standing with a staff in his hand, on guard of his own accord in front of her maize field.

"Gurl, you are _crazy._"

"I am NOT! He was an alux! A Mayan sprite that is mischievous when not given what he wants, but can bring incredible good fortune to those who help him out…"

Was it possible for there to be a World Meeting that didn't contain relatively pointless arguments involving America? Signs point to "no." In this case, America was attempting to downgrade Guatemala's belief in the "alux" that apparently had visited her about a week prior. As always, though, Guatemala was standing strong by her culture.

"That sounds cool and all, bra, but I'm _pretty _positive you're the only one who can see little corn men," America insisted.

"One, they only show themselves to who they want to, and two, they're not 'corn men.' They can be found in caves, and forests, and stone…." Guatemala muttered, an angry blush swimming up her face. "I can't believe that you_ don't_ believe me! They're like, the Leprechauns of my people!"

America snickered into his hand, having enough sense to realize that his obnoxious signature laugh would irritate Guatemala enough to earn him a punch square in the jaw. "Leprechauns? Doesn't the limey bastard see those too?"

"The 'limey bastard' happens to be right here, idiot," England chimed in from the seat beside America, a scowl nearly permanent on his face. America stared at him in airy shock for a moment, for he'd completely forgotten that anyone besides him and Guatemala was in the room. He quickly retreated to ignoring the other countries' presence and resumed his argument with his female friend.

"And what about that See-hoo-wanba thing you were on about before? The chick that whores around until dudes follow her to their doom, and she's actually an ugly horse-face?" he continued, hand motions accompanying his words all the while.

If at all possible, Guatemala turned even redder. "She's called the _Sihuanaba,_" she corrected him through clenched teeth. "A-and Spain told me the stories about her! It's hard not to believe some of my ruco's* legends…"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great," America said distractedly, his attention span obviously having expired.

England leaned forward in his seat, turning to face Guatemala. "If it means anything, _I _don't think you're crazy…" He coughed into his fist, averting his eyes. "Frankly, I'm a bit relieved that I'm not the only one who has such beliefs."He immediately took a long sip of his tea afterwards.

For a moment, Guatemala felt reassured and even slightly flattered. If England saw fairies, what was so wrong about her seeing aluxob? Then again, England also claimed to see pirates and flying green rabbits… No wonder America was trying to convince her that some of the things she believed in were nothing but myths.

Even though America was clearly deep in thought concerning what topic to discuss (or, in reality, bicker over) next, Guatemala wasn't done. If she couldn't stop America from being skeptical about her folklore, she could at _least _scare the living daylights out of him. She took a calming deep breath and smiled at America sweetly, tucking a strand of hair neatly behind her air. "America, did I ever tell you about the cadejo?"

America glanced at her over the rim of his glasses and shrugged. "I dunno. I sorta stopped listening to your stories after you told me about those Nahual characters."

It took a huge inhaling of air for Guatemala to let that one slide. "Well, you might actually like this one!" She knew America would give up on listening halfway through, so Guatemala decided to start off with the creepy stuff. She readied her best airy voice for effect. "There is a white cadejo, and a black cadejo…. Let me tell you about the 3 types of _black_ cadejo. One: the devil himself; he appears as an injured dog-type creature, except it has hooves. Its feet are bound by burning red chains… This cadejo won't chase after you or anything like that, but if you see him, you'll have tragic events occur in your life." Guatemala had to hold back a smirk as she noticed vague interest flickering in America's blue eyes. He was a sucker for scary stories and she knew it.

"Two: 'the mysterious evil dog,'" she continued. By this point, a few other countries were listening in. It was a good thing Guatemala was working on upping the creepy… "The first thing this cadejo will do is scare its victim by providing eerie sounds and other signals of its presence." She whispered the following sentence: "Once the victim is nice and unnerved…" And emphasized this one by raising her voice and smacking her palms against the table: "The cadejo LASHES out and _mercilessly _murders them." It was ever so pleasing to see her eavesdroppers either gasp, stumble in their seats, cover their mouths, widen their eyes, or all of the above in America's case.

"Number three is the least frightening. It is a mix between a regular dog and cadejo. It's possible to kill this offspring… Possible, but certainly not easy. In the event that a very strong man does manage to murder this cadejo, the creature will decay right on the spot. A stain of evil will linger where its body once lay, and nothing will ever grow there again," Guatemala concluded. The silence that followed was actually more uncomfortable than the usual rowdiness of the meetings.

Leave it to America to break that silence. The fear melted out of his expression and was replaced with a teasing smile. "And do these cadejo thingymajiggers go out for tea with your precious aluxob?"

So much for Guatemala's moment of pleasure. "You are so _shallow!_" she shrieked, smacking him upside the head. "You know what I think? I think you're making fun of me about this because you're just jealous. Maybe only extra-special people can see things like I-" she glanced to the side, "like England and I can! Oh, wait, you're probably too _dim _to be able to come to that conclusion."

A chorus of "Ooooh" rang out around the nations as America sat there looking taken quite off guard. He was the hero, so he wouldn't get embarrassed…! Okay. So maybe he was a little embarrassed. But, Guatemala barely noticed: her attention was caught by a certain hair-curl-bearing Nordic with a strong belief in fairies and trolls smiling gently in her direction.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry about pickin' on you about your little fantasy- Your little beliefs," America called that evening, trotting up to Guatemala as the dismissed countries headed either out to dinner or back to the hotel. In Guatemala's case, the latter, while America had the former in mind.

Guatemala continued walking as if she was still alone. America sighed. "You can't be mad at me forever… Look, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some grub together…?"

"Oh, fine," Guatemala gave in after a few seconds of silence. A grin, both relieved and prideful, seeped onto America's face.

"Sweet! So I was thinking we could find a McDonald's- wait. The hell is _that?" _Unfortunately for America, he hadn't noticed that Guatemala had absently led him into an alleyway… And he also hadn't been told that the creatures of Guatemala's story from the meeting tended to lurk in said places.

"The hell is what?" Guatemala questioned innocently, although she was also aware of the sudden raunchy smell drifting into the air. She felt America freeze beside her.

His voice came out with an air of nervous foreboding. "Hold on… You know, I actually did hear about those cadejo things before. Didn't they have this nasty smell about them…?"

"Sí, they do… It smells exactly like this, too," Guatemala gasped quietly. She made it look like her fingertips were flying to her lips in fear, when in truth they were covering up a smirk. Legend had it that cadejos actually smelled specifically like a putrid combination of urine and smoldering sulphur… But America didn't need to know that.

Especially since he was now shivering in his boots despite his warm jacket and the humid temperature, and the hero's fear was _so _satisfying.

"W…which one do you think it is?" America whispered. Time to play the moment for all it's worth…

Channeling her inner actress, Guatemala drew in a shaky breath. "I… I think it's the second…"

For a moment, America just stood there silently, racking his memory. When he recalled that the second cadejo was the brutally savage one, he let out a shuddering shriek and took a few steps back. His heart all but stopped when he noticed two reddish orbs glowing toward the edge of the alley, accompanied by a deep, menacing growl. America only needed to see a glimpse of a mangy canine as it stepped into a ray of moonlight to let out a rather girlish screech, clumsily turn on his heels, and bolt off into the night.

"America, you do know that if you turn your back on a cadejo, you'll lose your sanity, right?" Guatemala called after his retreating form. But he was long gone, so she allowed herself to be overcome by a laughing fit. "Who's a dulce little mythical creature?" Guatemala crooned after taming her giggles, bending over and outstretching her hand.

What an incredibly perfect time it had been for a stray black dog to appear in the alley.

* * *

*ruco = a Guatemalan term similar to how Americans call their fathers "old man"


	9. Chapter 9

It was modern times- somewhere from the 1990s to the 2000s- and Guatemala was quite at ease. She sat on a pure white sofa in her main room, running her fingers through the thick greenish feathers on José's wings and smiling gently as the bird made a series of pleasurable sounds that almost sounded like purring. Music filled the air outside from drums being played and carolers singing in the distance. Countless fireworks exploded, filling the darkened evening sky with colors.

Ah, Christmas time.

The peace was abruptly disrupted by rapid knocking at Guatemala's front door. "¿Eh? I wonder who that could be?" Guatemala murmured. Certainly it wasn't one of her people; they had enough respect to not be so noisy and persistent. That is, unless there was an emergency… Eyes widening, Guatemala halted stroking José and bolted to her front door, keeping a hand on her quetzal's back so he wouldn't fall off of her shoulder. She hurriedly twisted the doorknob, and….

"Yo, brosplosion! Merry early navidad!" Guatemala wasn't sure which to react to first: America's new revision to the nickname "bro," or the fact that he was standing on her porch, 7 days before Christmas Eve, a red Santa hat on his head as he wished her a happy holiday half in her native tongue. She had to admit: she rather enjoyed it when he attempted to speak Spanish…

Guatemala let out a relieved sigh, loosening her shoulders and offering a smile. "Oy, feliz navidad a ti también. I was confused for a moment there… It wasn't my turn to receive the Holy Family yet…"

America tilted his head like a curious puppy while a huge goofy grin was still permanent on his face. "'Receive the Holy Family,' say what now?"

_Might as well keep it short and to the point, with his attention span, _Guatemala reasoned to herself. "It's tradition here at my home for figures of Mary and Joseph to travel around a neighborhood. After special carols are sung and ritualistic questions are asked, the figures are placed in a nacimiento inside the designated house until the next night," she explained.

"Oooh, sweet… A nacimi-whatever is a Nativity, right? We got them at my place too! That's totally badass!" America gasped. "So like, anyway, I gotta tell you what brings me here on this basically random night."

"Sí, this is true… But por favor, come inside first! It's chilly out there," Guatemala offered, taking a few steps backward and motioning for America to follow her. He did so, roughly patting José on the head before making his way over to a couch (the bird puffed his feathers out in protest and glared after the man, ducking closer to Guatemala's hair and glaring at him from beneath the black locks). Guatemala delicately sat on a sofa across from the one on which America was seated. She barely had time to situate herself when her company started talking again.

"So obviously, it's Christmastime! Tis the season to be jolly and all that shiz. But _how _can we be jolly without a kickass party?"

Guatemala furrowed her eyebrows slightly, her smile fading. "America… I thought you were forbidden from throwing Christmas parties for 5 years?" Let's just say that at America's last celebration, he and Prussia had been around each other and beer for a _little _too long, and the results upset basically every boss in the world.

The reminder of this incident only made America let out his signature laugh. "Who said it had to be _my _kickass party?" He dramatically clapped his gloved hand onto Guatemala's shoulder, his eyes boring into hers from behind his glasses. "Guatemala… Until I'm not banned from throwing Christmas parties, I would like to pass the responsibility onto _you." _

Silence erupted between the two friends. Guatemala just sat there, shocked into speechlessness, with her mouth hanging slightly open. "I… America, I barely know anyone well enough!" was all she managed to get out.

"So here's your chance to make some new pals! Or at least introduce yourself and maybe get a few people high!" America reasoned, leaning forward enthusiastically. Guatemala bit the inside of her cheek, tilting her head skeptically.

"Well… Christmas parties _are _common here, and I guess I could invite other nations and their citizens to the one that I throw…" she murmured after a few more seconds of silence.

America threw himself to Guatemala's side so quickly that José ended up falling off of his mistress's shoulder and crashing to the couch cushion below. It took a great deal of flailing and flapping to situate himself comfortably again. "Dude, that's _so _great! Don't worry about sending invitations, I'll take care of that… I'll use spell-check and your return address and everything so it looks legit!"

As further evidence of his optimism, America leaned over and kissed Guatemala on both cheeks, twice. Usually, this wouldn't have fazed her; it was normal for friends to exchange such gestures in her country. But America always got all flustered at those types of things, and found them more like _romantic _motions_… _So Guatemala found herself blushing slightly.

Before she could even recover enough to think up a response, America was on his feet again. "I'll call you later, gal pal! 'Kay?"

"Sí, I'll be waiting for your call," Guatemala replied with a partial shake to her head. America ruffled her hair roughly before striding out into the night.

Days passed, and Christmas Eve fell upon the world. When the time came, guests began to arrive at Guatemala's mansion in her capital. Her own citizens were all the first to arrive, followed by other countries and their people in a random order. America arrived what he called "fashionably late," dressed in a green jacket covered in multicolored buds. Guatemala chuckled into her hand at the sight of him.

"That's an… interesting jacket," she commented. She herself was clothed in a simple black skirt with a silky blue top.

"Ain't it the _shiz?" _America beamed, holding out his arms and revolving on the spot. "Check it." He pressed a crimson button on the cuff of his sleeve; in an instant, every single little bud on the jacket lit up and created a rainbow of colors.

"That certainly _is _something," Guatemala agreed with a laugh. America's flashiness never ceased to amaze her. "Well, I'm hungry. Come on, let's go see what's available on the buffet table."

"Ooh, good thing you mentioned that! I gotta go grab a slice of the badass cake I brought before it's all gone!" America exclaimed. He bolted off before Guatemala could even blink. Little did he know that nobody was even _considering _having a bite of the baking project he had created. It must have been something about the excess amount of food coloring that scared people away…

Guatemala clicked her tongue and shook her head fondly, walking forward with her eyelids closed lightly. Since she wasn't using her sight, however, she ended up bumping into someone. "Oh, lo siento!" she gasped, taking a couple steps backward. She looked up to see a blonde country wearing a red velvet tuxedo and holding a slice of exquisite red velvet cake on a plate to match the outfit. On his head, however, was what would really catch anyone's attention: a black headband with a candy cane-shaped pole protruding from it. There was a hook on the end of the pole, and dangling from said hook was a bushel of a green plant with a few white and red berries in it.

The nation smirked. "Why bonjour, mademoiselle Guatemala! 'Ow fortunate for us to meet under somezing as magical as mistletoe…"

Ah, so this was _France_ she had run into. "Mistletoe? What's… mistletoe?" Guatemala inquired. A brief growl from her stomach made her desire to continue on her way even stronger.

"So you're unaware of zis custom! Onhonhon, well allow me to demonstrate, mon cheri." And to Guatemala's complete surprise and confusion, he grabbed her delicately by the shoulders, closed his lovely blue eyes, puckered his lips, and leaned downward. With a shriek, Guatemala pressed her palms against his chest and pushed herself away.

"Pervierten bruta!" she shouted after him. She didn't stop running until she reached the buffet table on the complete opposite side of the room. The flats she was wearing, however, were not made for running on recently cleaned floors, so she ended up skidding quite a bit. Fortunately, America was there to grab her by the arm before she collided with the punch bowl.

"_Someone's _a little bit hungry," the spectacled country laughed, his mouth full of neon blue and orange cake. Guatemala scrunched up her nose in disgust when a crumb landed on her shoulder, but couldn't help but smile. America always seemed to have that effect on her…

"Just a bit." Straightening out her slightly disheveled hair, Guatemala calmed herself and reached for a plate. Her eyes scanned over all the foreign dishes on display until they landed on a certain something from her homeland. "Christmas just isn't Christmas without tamales," she whispered more to herself than America. She piled 4 of the food item onto her plate: 2 containing chicken, 2 containing pork.

"Tamales, huh? For me it's more like Christmas isn't Christmas without… a lot of stuff, really. But let's just say it isn't Christmas without lights." America motioned at his illuminated jacket to emphasize his point. He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully. "Or Christmas trees… It just ain't the same without Christmas trees…"

"You know, I didn't used to follow that tradition until this one year when Germany came to discuss something… It was the holiday season, and he commented about the lack of Christmas trees, and well… The idea sort of spread," Guatemala remarked. She brought one of the tamales to her mouth and immediately grinned in pleasure as the flavor flooded over her tongue.

"Cool, cool," America responded, venturing to sample a tamale himself. His eyes bulged the moment he took a bite. "Hot damn, no _wonder _you love these things!" he gasped before swallowing. He finished the tamale so quickly that Guatemala had to hit him on the back to prevent him from choking. "So anyway, why'd you look so spazzed out when you came over here?"

Hm, maybe America would know something about "mistletoe…" Guatemala doubted it, but figured it was still worth a shot. "Oh, that's because-" She was cut off, however, by the loud _dong_ing of her grandfather clock. A huge smile melted onto Guatemala's face. "Midnight…" she breathed. She held up one finger to America, her eyes sparkling. "Un minuto, I've got some traditional business to take care of…"

The dark haired nation trotted eagerly up the staircase, a few of her citizens following behind. They approached Guatemala's Nativity scene, set on a lone table in the middle of the grand hall. The thing was almost ancient, but still in good condition. One of the Guatemalans held out a figure of the Christ Child, and allowed Guatemala to gingerly add it to the scene. "Perfect," she breathed. "Not as much ceremony as usual, but…. It will do." She spun around gracefully on her heel, and to the confusion of many party guests, hugged every one of her people that had accompanied her on the little task.

Guatemala made her way back down the stairs, smiling uncontrollably, and went to locate Cuba. He'd showed up to the party, but spent his time standing on the sidelines with America's extremely quiet brother. The party's hostess practically skipped over to him, and to his shock, stood on tiptoes to wrap her arms around his thick neck. "_What _are you doing?" the Caribbean country asked incredulously.

"Giving you the abrazo de Navidad!" Guatemala giggled, taking a step back. "After situating the Christ Child in the nacimiento, it's custom to go around giving the abrazo de Navidad- Christmas hug- to friends and family. And last time I checked, you're my friend," she explained.

"Oh. Well, sí, you could say that," Cuba muttered, averting his eyes and coughing awkwardly into his fist. Guatemala flashed him one last gleeful look before continuing on her way, completely unaware that a light blush had swept across his face.

Once she embraced her "big brother" Mexico, gave an at first awkward but then rather sweet hug to Spain, and decided not to go near Romano, Guatemala headed off to find America. It wasn't much of a surprise to find him standing outside, interestedly watching fireworks. She was glad to see he'd had enough sense to finally turn his jacket off.

"America, hola," Guatemala called, not hesitating to embrace her companion in a hug. America immediately wrapped his arms around her waist in return without waiting for an explanation. He actually looked sort of disappointed when she pulled away. "So continuing what I was saying before… That France guy said something about 'the custom of mistletoe,' then the bastardo tried to kiss me!"

It was apparent that America found this quite humorous, since he was obviously holding back laughter. "You never heard of mistletoe, huh? Well… When two people stand under it, they have to kiss. It's, like, a rule."A light embarrassed blush appeared on Guatemala's cheeks at her lack of knowledge on the matter.

For a moment, she was confused as to why America's look suddenly softened. She soon, though, received her answer. "Looks like Francey-Pants wanted to share that 'l'amour' crap of his with everyone…" America murmured. He pointed directly above where they stood; tied to the banister of a balcony was the same exact plant that France had on his headband.

Both countries turned their gazes downward simultaneously, resulting in their eyes meeting. They were both blushing at this point- Guatemala more so than America. The latter used a gloved hand to brush a strand of stray hair out of the former's face, proceeding to caress the backs of his fingers against her cheek. The flirtatious gesture, though, didn't make Guatemala feel disgusted or alarmed; in fact, the only thing she felt was _eagerness. _Yet…

America's eyelids had very leisurely fluttered shut, and he was leaning toward Guatemala's face with his lips puckered ever so slightly. His mouth was a mere inch away from hers… Half an inch… a couple centimeters….."S-so how about those tamales, eh?" Guatemala interrupted, ducking her head and backing toward the door. The sudden disruption was enough to make America open his eyes wide and freeze on the spot. He simply stared at Guatemala with a blank expression. "Lo siento…" she whispered regretfully. Shutting her eyes tight, she dashed back inside.

The remainder of the party wasn't so bad. All of the guests seemed quite content (well, with the exception of one confused American who never came back inside). Guatemala spent the rest of the time chatting with Mexico, trying (and eventually succeeding) to have a comfortable conversation with Spain, plus hanging out with Cuba and Canada. Nobody left early, and when everyone _did _leave, Guatemala received a huge number of compliments. She just hoped that the party wasn't so successful that she'd be expected to throw another one next year… And that she'd be able to face America again.


	10. Chapter 10

It was about the 19th century, give or take a couple. Guatemala was feeling particularly adventurous, so after checking in with her boss, she headed out. There wasn't a specific destination she had in mind; she just _went. _She went through her capital, toward smaller villages that she rarely visited. Still, she didn't linger anywhere for very long. Perhaps she _did _have a destination in mind… she just wasn't aware of it.

For a long while- how long, Guatemala wasn't sure, but it must have been at least an hour- she just proceeded through towns and villages, smiling and greeting citizens that she passed, maybe pausing for a brief conversation. Eventually, though, she strayed away from the dirt trail she'd been following. The dusty road had felt so much more comfortable under Guatemala's sandaled feet than this unkempt grass, and she had never before ventured into this area, yet something compelled her to keep on going.

It wasn't until she was standing on the overgrown outskirts of a forest that Guatemala finally came to a halt. From the atmosphere of the place, she could tell that a human being hadn't set foot on the spot on which she stood in quite some time. "Why am I even here?" she breathed under her breath. _I bet this is the border, _she added in thought. The idea of heading back gradually grew appealing to her… Even so, she grasped the bottom hem of her dress so as not to catch it on anything and climbed into the jungle.

Her surroundings were fascinating- not quite new to her, but fascinating nonetheless. Various species of vegetation that Guatemala found familiar yet couldn't name off the top of her head grew everywhere, creating a luscious world of green. The din of countless birdcalls and other animal sounds nearly masked the powerful noise created by the distant rushing of a waterfall. A snake slithered by once or twice, but it didn't scare Guatemala; just intrigued her.

_What harm could going farther do? _She wondered. Her conscience immediately snapped back with a lot of scenarios, but Guatemala ignored them and kept on going. She hadn't the slightest clue why, but it was as if someone- or some_thing_- was beckoning to her, and she simply couldn't ignore the feeling.

Although she didn't notice it at first, Guatemala's heartbeat was progressively increasing as she drew nearer and nearer to the heart of the forest. For an unknown reason, a tingling sensation washed all throughout her body, and then vanished climatically once she reached a mahogany tree. The thing was massive- easily 100 feet in height- and clearly marked the forests' center. What made Guatemala's chest freeze, though, was what sat at the foot of the tree: a wooden doll.

There was nothing special about this doll. Its dress was obviously assembled from unevenly cut cloth; its hair was a single piece of black fabric; its painted-on face was simple, consisting of just two circles for eyes and a smile. It lay in an unnatural position, so it had apparently been dropped there, yet it gave Guatemala the feeling that it was waiting for her to pick it up. So, of course, she did.

The very second Guatemala's fingertips met the doll's body, a rustling sounded nearby. Guatemala snapped her gaze up in alarm, her grip tightening on the doll almost protectively. The massive leaves of some sort of plant folded down, and out stepped, shockingly, a little girl.

"…Hola, niña… Did you drop this?" Guatemala managed to whisper after she and the child stared at each other for a good 20 seconds. The girl just nodded, hesitantly outstretching her arms. A soft smile appeared on Guatemala's face as she gently pressed the doll into the child's hands. They continued to look at each other while Guatemala wondered what a child was doing in the middle of a jungle on the Guatemalan border. A theory suddenly jumped into her head. "You're a new country, aren't you?" she asked before she even realized what she was thinking.

"…Yes. My name's… Belize." Guatemala felt her heart leap. A new country? So close by? She couldn't help but get a good observation of the girl.

She was young, but not awfully so- she appeared around the age of 8. Her skin was tan like Guatemala's, except maybe a shade or two lighter. Also like Guatemala, her hair was black, although short and rather scruffy. She had eyes of the most brilliant shade of green that could practically blend in with the surrounding vegetation. Oddly enough, she had notably thick eyebrows. In a way, though… she looked like a younger version of Guatemala herself.

"Do you have a family, Belize?" Guatemala inquired gently, standing up straight (she _had_ been kneeling down to Belize's height).

Belize opened her mouth, but then closed it as if her immediate answer wasn't good enough. She stared at the ground for a moment before looking back up and saying "No."

Although a warm, motherly expression formed on Guatemala's face, she couldn't help the feeling of power building up inside of her. Never in her life had she thought of conquering another country, except maybe in dreams and fantasies when she was little. Yet this girl was so small; so alone; so vulnerable… Maybe it would actually be in her best interest if Guatemala seized the opportunity. "That's going to change. I don't know about you, but I think we could be hermanas."

Belize's bushy eyebrows furrowed together questioningly. "'Hermanas'?"

"Sí. Sisters. We look similar, and I feel as if I was destined to meet you here… So how about you come live with me, sweetie?" Guatemala hoped she sugar-coated the offer enough to make it appealing, while at the same time not giving the child much of a choice.

There was a good moment of silence as Guatemala smiled down at Belize, hands on her knees, while the girl tossed the situation back and forth in her petite head. "I guess I don't have anywhere else to go…" she muttered.

Guatemala had to bite down on her lip to keep from squealing like a little kid. Instead, she clapped her hands twice. "Muy bueno! My name is Guatemala, by the way." She held out her hand. "Come on, little one. I live a little more than an hour away from here." Slowly, Belize reached up and let her hand be engulfed by Guatemala's.

~.~.~.~.~

The walk back was, for the most part, quiet. Guatemala asked Belize simple questions- where she was from, how old she was, what things she liked- all of which were answered simply. Really, it sort of concerned Guatemala how much Belize lacked animation. Surely, nobody could be so bland… The girl was doing an _excellent _job of covering up her personality. But the question is, why?

Every time they entered a village or town, at least one person would ask who Belize was. Each time, Guatemala would introduce her as her little sister, to which Belize remained unresponsive. She just stared off to the side, and Guatemala used the excuse that she was "very shy."

"You're not very talkative, are you?" Guatemala remarked as they made it down the path that would lead to Guatemala City.

"I can be. I just don't want to," Belize replied casually.

"Is there a reason why?" Belize gave Guatemala a look that clearly meant the topic shouldn't be touched again.

Finally, they made it to Guatemala's home. She gave Belize a tour, introduced her to José, and told her to stay put while she went to find some clothes that would fit her. Belize just nodded and sat on the sofa, José fluttering after her. "Hello, bird. Is Guatemala nice?" she asked, using her index finger to scratch the quetzal under the chin. José tilted his head, and then nodded. Belize sighed in response. "That doesn't mean I want to be here."

Upon Guatemala's return, she led Belize up to the bathroom and offered to give her a bath. "I can do it myself," Belize insisted immediately. Guatemala decided it best not to argue over such a light matter, and instead filled up the tub and laid out an outfit for Belize to change into afterwards.

"Oh, you look _muy lindo!_" Guatemala squealed when Belize stepped out into the hall, clothed in a simple purple dress with a white collar. Much to the girl's confusion, Guatemala pulled her onto her lap. "Now, let's tame that mane of yours," she crooned, bringing a brush to her hair. It only reached her mid-neck, yes, but it was still long enough that a thorough brushing was needed.

10 minutes had passed by the time Guatemala finally set down the brush. Even though it certainly looked neater, her hair still had that scruffy look about it. The style seemed somehow familiar….. A knock at the door interrupted Guatemala from trying to figure out where she'd seen the hairdo before.

Guatemala opened the door to see a group of children from the neighborhood standing on her porch. "Hola, Señorita Guatemala! We heard the rumor that you have an underling_,_" declared a boy that stood at the front of the group, grinning widely to show that he had a few teeth missing.

"Oh, sí, you're talking about mi _hermana pequeña_." Smiling, Guatemala nodded over her shoulder at Belize, who was curiously poking her head out from the hallway. She gripped the doorway in mild alarm when multiple pairs of eyes settled on her.

"We wanted to know if she'd wanna play some football with us!" chimed a girl in the back, holding up what Americans call a soccer ball. Guatemala's smile faltered.

"Lo siento, but she just got changed. You can certainly come back tomorrow, though." The kids pouted but nodded, leaving Guatemala completely oblivious to the glare Belize shot her way before disappearing farther into the house.

This was going to be a _long _guardianship.

* * *

_**~Author's Note~**_

_A new OC- Belize- finally made her debut! That tricky little girl is going to turn Guatemala's world upside-down... I haven't researched Belize nearly as much as Guatemala, so sorry if chapters with her aren't very accurate._


	11. Chapter 11

Fortunately, the children from the neighborhood did end up returning the following afternoon. Having expected this, Guatemala dressed Belize in something much more casual- a black, knee-length skirt with a simple puffy-sleeved white top and pair of sandals. Worried that the kids would start trouble with Belize, or vice versa, she watched over their game from the window.

"Do you know how to play this game?" the leader of the group was asking, dribbling the ball from foot to foot.

Belize nodded. "It's one of my favorites."

Guatemala was glad to see that when they started electing teams, Belize was the first to be picked. As she watched, she realized that the child wasn't half bad at football. Not amazing, but definitely good. What really stunned Guatemala, though, was how _into _it she got. Her expression was totally alive, a cheerful fire dancing in her green orbs as a grin was stretched on her face. So she _did _have personality…

Any trace of it was gone, though, when she returned home.

"Belize, sweetheart? Could you help me set the tables for dinner, por favor?" Guatemala called upon Belize's return in the evening. That girl was certainly gifted at sudden poker faces… Except for the ghost of her previous enthusiasm lingering in her eyes, her expression was perfectly blank. It was hard to determine how such an apathetic-looking person could possibly have obtained crinkled, dirt stained clothing and windblown hair.

They just stared at each other- Guatemala with a desperate smile, Belize with as much animation as a statue. Eventually, she gave a slight nod to her head and disappeared into the kitchen. _Maybe she's coming around… No matter how slowly, _Guatemala thought hopefully.

Without a word, Belize returned with a glass, napkin, and silverware balanced on a plate in her grubby hands. She passed right by Guatemala, not even sparing her a glance, and organized them all at the head of Guatemala's dining room table. Instead of revisiting the kitchen to fetch dishes for herself, she headed toward the stairs.

"Belize, what are you doing? Dinner is almost ready, and you could wash up down here," Guatemala reminded her, almost bumping into the girl as she headed to remove a casserole, which she'd prepared about an hour ago when taking a break from watching Belize's soccer game, from the oven.

"I already ate," Belize told her monotonously. Guatemala just stared at her in confusion until a further explanation was provided. "I've been home for a while now. When you were outside feeding the pigs and sheep, I made myself some rice." She casually pointed to a used pot sitting in the kitchen sink to help illustrate her story.

Taken off guard, Guatemala just blinked at her with an agape mouth. "I… Well… Alright, then…" she muttered. Belize narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly before proceeding upstairs, leaving Guatemala to eat dinner alone.

Guatemala was just putting her emptied dishes away in the sink, José hopping around her feet on the wooden floor, when noisy knocking sounded from her front door. She hadn't even made it out of the room before a familiar voice shouted: "SURPRISE, GUESS WHO!" Guatemala hurriedly wiped her hands on a nearby towel, scurrying to welcome her rowdy guest.

"Hola, America," she greeted in a slightly choked tone, having not spoken in a good amount of time (she coughed quietly into her fist to fix this).

"Yo! So rumor has it that you've got yourself an underling?"

For whatever reason, the mention of Belize made Guatemala shiver slightly. "Sí, I have… Do you want to meet her?"

"Hellz yeah I do!" America answered immediately. Very much used to America's outbursts, Guatemala just led him farther inside.

"Belize, querido? We have company. Clean yourself up so you can come meet him," she called the stairs while America tried to attract José by saying "Polly want a cracker?"

Only a few minutes passed until Belize rejoined them in the room. Obviously, her idea of getting cleaned up was different than Guatemala's, who expected her to be in different clothes with brushed hair: she had simply tucked in her shirt, washed her hands, and brushed herself off. America halted sucking on his finger, which José had bitten, and instead grinned beamishly at the girl. She tilted her head at him with mild interest.

"'Sup little broha? I'm America," the blonde country exclaimed, extending a hand toward Belize. Something flickered across her usually blank face… Recognition, perhaps? No, that couldn't be… How would she know America?

"Hello. My name's Belize," Belize replied in an almost businesslike tone, lightly taking America's hand and letting her arm go limp. "You're rather loud, you know," she added with a quirk to one of her thick eyebrows.

In response, America let out his signature laugh. "You know who you remind me of? That jerky limey England."

To both Guatemala and America's surprise, alarm shot across Belize's expression at that. She quickly covered it up by gazing down toward the ground. Her demeanor was still rigid, though.

"Are you hungry, America?" Guatemala inquired slightly awkwardly.

"Uh, ALWAYS! But no worries, I got some grub right here." Absurdly, America dug into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulled out a messily-wrapped cheeseburger, French fries thrown between the buns. "I'm kinda thirsty though…"

Chuckling at the American's ridiculousness, Guatemala shuffled into the kitchen to whip up some coffee for him. Wearing his usual goofy smile, America made himself comfortable on the sofa in Guatemala's living room. Belize hesitantly followed after him and sat in one of the armchairs opposite from the couch.

"So I hear that you like to give Guatemala a hard time," America began, crossing my arms behind his head and leaning back so as to use them like a pillow.

"…I do not. I avoid her more much than I bother her," Belize murmured, facing America's direction yet refusing to make eye contact with him.

America tilted his head slightly and crossed his legs, removing one hand from behind his head and taking out his burger. "That's still being difficult, y'know. What, d'you not like her or somethin'?"

"No," Belize answered immediately, "it isn't anything personal." Her gaze met America's for just a moment; she quickly darted her eyes away.

"Then why can't ya talk to her? You're talking to _me _just fine," America reasoned, tapping his foot absently as he chewed.

For a few moments, Belize was silent. "I'd act like that for _anyone _that took me into their household," she whispered honestly. She added something in an even softer tone, but it was so quiet that America only heard the words "except for."

"Huh? Can you repeat that, bra?" America requested mid-gulp, once again completely failing to read the atmosphere. Belize just stared at him with an expression that clearly read he was out of his mind until he changed the subject.

The two of them shared their mutual love for soccer and tortillas until Guatemala entered the room carrying a steaming mug. America thanked her perhaps too enthusiastically before gulping down the hot beverage and completely disregarding the heat. Guatemala sat down beside America, shaking her head fondly before flashing Belize her best smile.

"So are you getting along with Mr. America?" she asked. Belize's eyes drifted off to the side as if Guatemala's presence inconvenienced her.

"Pretty much, I suppose," she said softly. America looked back and forth between the two females with obvious confusion.

"Damn, bro, your vibe just went WAY down," he noted with half a French fry hanging out his mouth, using one hand to point in Belize's direction. He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You totally don't like Guatemala."

"I do!" Belize insisted with more force than you would expect from such a small girl; it caught everyone off guard, including Belize herself. "I do like her," she repeated more quietly. Crossing her arms lightly, she stared at her feet again. "I'm just… still adjusting." Neither America nor Guatemala caught that Belize was fibbing.

"Oh… Thank goodness… I was really afraid you had it in for me from the start," Guatemala breathed, placing one hand on her chest over where her heart is. "If there's anything that can help you adjust quicker, just ask me."

"Well, I'm pretty tired right now, to be honest… Would you mind putting me to bed early?" Belize requested. Guatemala glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how early it was, but didn't argue.

"Of course I wouldn't mind. Come on, miel." She got to her feet, gently gripping Belize's shoulder before following the girl up the stairs. America finished his unhealthy food before deciding he didn't quite like being alone, and joining the other two in the room that Guatemala had given to Belize.

The girl was already clothed in a nightdress and crawling into bed after saying her prayers by the time America found her and Guatemala. "Buenas noches, hermana menor" Guatemala whispered, pressing the doll she had found on the day she met Belize into the girl's hands. Furrowing her eyebrows slightly, Belize started to silently slide down under the covers… But then she noticed America standing in the doorway.

"…Good night, Guatemala," she replied reluctantly. To Guatemala's both shock and delight, the young country reached up and gave her a quick hug before rolling over onto her side and pulling the blankets up further. Guatemala smiled affectionately, giving her sister a gentle kiss on the cheek before slipping out into the hall with America following close to her like a friendly puppy.

They proceeded back to the living room without a word, casual smiles on their faces. Guatemala motioned to the couch but America shook his head. "Nah man, I'm gonna get goin' soon. Might as well stand."

Guatemala tried not to look too disappointed. "Oh, alright."

"You're pretty good at this mommy stuff… You big mush," America teased, lightly punching his friend in the shoulder. Guatemala rolled her eyes pleasantly.

"I'm trying to be her _sister, _not her _mamá._ And I'm just going to be all soft and sweet to her until I grow on her. Once she comes around and gets used to this whole thing, I'll start laying down some law and discipline," Guatemala explained.

America nodded slowly, actually understanding what she was saying. "You're devious, you know that?"

"Well I want her to start liking me- loving me as her sister, even- before I am all strict like I should be with my little territory." There was a pause. "…Belize really seemed to like you." Guatemala glanced over her shoulder toward the stairway.

" 'Course she did. I'm a pretty likable person." America grinned down at his Latin American companion; for whatever reason, a light blush swept across her cheeks as she smiled warmly up at him.

"I, for one, know that _I_ like you. Even if you're a noisy, rude, obnoxious _slob._"

"Hey, I happen to be a noisy, rude, obnoxious slob that's gonna be buddies with your sis so she warms up and likes you quicker," America indicated with a pout.

"…You'd do that?" Guatemala said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

"Don't sound so surprised. You're my BFF! I'd do anything for ya."

_I'd do anything for you. _Those words echoed loudly in Guatemala's head, over and over.

Wait. What was going on? Her head was pounding (though not painfully), the room was spinning, her legs felt weak… But that wasn't because of America's words. Guatemala was already quite certain that he would do anything for her… No, everything was like this because America now had his hand pressed against her cheek; his blue eyes were bearing into her brown ones from behind his glasses; he was leaning forward slightly…

Guatemala didn't wait to ask herself if what she thought was happening _would _happen. Instead, she shot her eyes right closed, placed both hands on America's shoulders, and sprung upward, pressing her lips against America's.

Her first kiss…. This was really it…. Was this how she pictured it going? Who she pictured it being with? She couldn't be sure- it had only come to her in a distant, insignificant dream or two…

And then it was over. America brought his lips off of Guatemala's mouth with a very soft _smack _sound, rested his nose on Guatemala's for a couple seconds, and then opened his eyes. Both of them smiled blissfully at each other… But only for a moment.

"Well, I'll see ya later," America murmured while taking a half step backward. Guatemala nodded slowly, reluctantly sliding her hands off his shoulder with her eyes still locked on his. She didn't become fully aware of how fast her heart was fluttering until America turned and strode out the door, closing it behind him without another word. Guatemala closed her eyes and shook her head, finally breaking the gaze she'd glued to his retreating form. The now passed moment was already becoming a blur; it had happened far too quickly…

It took about a minute for Guatemala's mind to clear. She'd kissed America, and he kissed her back… That's what. She absently brought two fingers up to touch her lips. The taste of his mouth- a combination of French fry residue and coffee- still lingered. _I wonder what _I _tasted like? My dinner, probably, _she thought to herself. "Gross, don't think such things," she muttered aloud.

The sound of her own voice seemed to snap her out of her little love struck haze. Immediately, she became aware of the fact that something was wrong. At the time, kissing him had felt so right. She loved him… Surely she loved him… Why else would she always smile when in his presence? Why else would she feel so fluttery inside when he spoke in her language? Why else would she adore spending her days with him? Why else would she have kissed him?

It didn't take long for the answers to come to her. With all of the stress she dealt with, America's childish, upbeat vibe was easily influential on her mood. That fluttery feeling at hearing him speak Spanish was not a romantic one; she was simply honored that her boneheaded friend bothered to learn something near and dear to her. Enjoying his company didn't mean she _loved _him… It just reinforced the fact that they were best friends. And she kissed him because the moment was so heartwarming, and in the back of her mind she felt guilty about backing away from that time under the mistletoe.

But at least she had been in her right mind when she rejected him.


End file.
